Jason Todd strolls into the warehouse by the docks like he owns it. He doesn't — not in the titled, official sense — but it's part of his turf. He gets a cut on every piece of crime that happens in his territory. Whatever these bozos thought they could hide from him, they were wrong.
They're too stupid to live if they thought he wouldn't notice this many thugs racing through the Narrows around an unmarked van in the middle of the afternoon.
"Just give me my cut of the money and I'll be out of here," Jason says, the filters on his infamous red helmet distorting his voice.
"Akhi?!"
Jason snaps his head to the right, following the sound of the familiar voice; the utter betrayal in that voice is new, though. It hurts. How had he not heard even a whisper that this was in the works? How? His informants will pay dearly for this failure.
Damian Wayne is chained to a chair near the edge of the room, guards with Berettas on either side of him. His face is bruised and swollen. He has a badly split lip; blood's spilling down his chin. But it's the betrayal in his green eyes that cuts Jason to the quick.
Because with what Jason said when he entered the warehouse ... Damian thinks Jason is part of this.
"You kidnapped Damian Wayne," Jason says.
It takes everything he has to keep his hands from shaking. He's so filled with rage that a green tint veils everything he sees.
How dare they?
How dare they hurt and kidnap his baby brother? "Impressive, isn't—"
Jason shoots the apparent leader of the little gang in the head; his brains spray. His corpse collapses to the floor. In the split-second of stunned silence that follows, Jason kills the guards on either side of Damian.
"What the hell?" "Get him!"
Jason doesn't know if they're just that bad of shots, or if his reputation precedes him so viciously that they can't keep their hands steady. Either way, it doesn't take long to pick them off one-by-one. Until, finally, except for one guy, they're meatbags on the floor.
"Why a-are you d-doing this?" the last culprit demands as he stares up at Jason with terror-filled eyes.
"Nobody touches my baby brother and lives," Jason answers, before blowing the guy's face off at close range. Blood gets on his clothes; he doesn't care. He will do — has done — much worse to keep Damian safe.
"Akhi?"
Jason shakes as he crosses to Damian, holsters his guns, and starts picking the lock on the chains. "How did they grab you, Habibi?"
"Tt. The cowards attacked from behind when I was getting out of school," Damian says.
The betrayal is gone from his eyes, and Jason shudders. That he had said something that made Damian doubt his love and loyalty will haunt Jason in his nightmares tonight. For many nights to come. There is nothing on Earth — or off it, for that matter — that could entice Jason to willingly betray his baby brother.
Once Jason gets the chains undone, he scoops Damian up in his arms and hugs him tightly. He's trying not to think about what would have happened if he had slept just a little bit longer and missed seeing the unmarked van tearing through the Narrows. Because if someone was ballsy enough to kidnap a kid in his territory ... he immediately assumes the worst.
"I'm so glad you're safe," he chokes out.
Damian says, "Tt," but clutches Jason tightly and burrows into his shoulder.
The lightest scuff of a footstep sounds behind them.
Jason spins, a gun in his left hand as Damian twists around to Jason's back, because — like they trained to do with the League — Damian draws the gun on Jason's right thigh. It takes Jason a second to realize they've got guns pointed at Batman and Nightwing respectively.
He almost pulls the trigger on instinct alone.
Jason's not ready to face them. He's not. If he was, he wouldn't have been plotting from the shadows and taking over Gotham's Underworld.
As far as they know, Jason Todd is dead. But—
That doesn't make it hurt any less when Nightwing snaps, "Let go of the kid!" at the same time Batman growls, "Who are you and what are you doing in my city?"
Damian cocks the gun and hisses, "Don't speak to my brother in such a manner!"
"Your brother?" Nightwing's voice is painfully high- pitched.
Jason grits his teeth and taps Damian's leg lightly. Damian reaches up — with the hand not holding the gun on Nightwing — and undoes the catches on Jason's helmet. He yanks it off quickly, so that Jason's view will only be blocked momentarily.
"J—" Nightwing gasps and pales.
Batman stands rigidly still, as if to prevent himself from staggering.
"Well," Jason says after swallowing, focusing on Nightwing because if he looks at B he's going to fall apart, "at least you love this brother enough to show up when he's kidnapped."
Even as the words spill from his lips, Jason regrets them. Nightwing wasn't even on the planet when the Joker took Jason; there was nothing he could have done.
He's not mad at Dick Grayson.
He's mad at Bruce Wayne; the Joker's still alive.
Jason watches, stunned, as Nightwing spins to face Batman — radiating more outrage and anger than Jason has ever seen before. Nightwing wasn't even this visibly upset when he found out that Batman passed the Robin mantle on to Jason without permission.
"You told me he was dead!" Nightwing snarls.
What?
"I—"
"I don't want one of your excuses! You told me that my baby brother was dead. And he's standing right here!" Nightwing declares, pointing finger-stripes right at Jason.
Was ... was Dick Nightwing really still upset about Jason's death? Jason died years ago! This whole time — has Nightwing been mourning him this whole time?
Because that would be—
"So it would seem," Batman says.
"So — so it would seem?" Nightwing demands, swinging an escrima stick as if he can't resist the urge to lash out at something.
Nightwing is shaking, whether with rage or sadness or pain, Jason doesn't know. It takes everything he has not to grab his older brother and hug him for the first time in years. Jason's always hated it when Dick's smile goes out — snuffed, however temporarily, by life.
Damian agrees if the "Tt!" against Jason's shoulder is any indication.
"What do you want me to—?"
"You were meant to be watching him!" Nightwing screams. "You promised me!"
Jason stills, holding his breath. What's that supposed to mean? What does Nightwing Dick mean by that?
"Nightwing, I—"
"No," Nightwing snaps, furious and more resolute than Jason has ever heard him before, "this is done. It's never happening again." He reaches up and double-taps on his comm.
Jason bites his tongue as Tim Drake Robin steps out of the shadows and appears at Nightwing's side, a bo staff in his hands. He hadn't realized that his replacement was here. It makes sense — all hands on deck for the missing Wayne Heir — but Jason hasn't seen him at all; Robin blends into the shadows as if he is one.
Not even Batman can do that. Who really trained his replacement?
"N?" Robin asks, absolute faith and obedience in his voice.
There's a collective silence, followed by disbelieving gasps as Nightwing rips the Robin insignia off Robin's chest and throws it at Batman's feet.
"What're you—?"
"Batman might need a Robin," Nightwing states as he nudges the replacement closer to Jason and Damian, as if herding him away from danger, "but Batman doesn't deserve a Robin."
"Dick?" Jason breathes, heart racing in his chest.
This ... this can't be real. It can't. Is Dick Grayson — the Boy Wonder, the Golden Boy — the perfect, unattainable original Robin permanently splitting from Batman?
Over them?
"You can't—!"
"I'm assuming custody of Tim and Damian. I'm only going to say this once, Bruce," Nightwing states, every line of corded muscle reading as a vicious, intent threat, "stay away from my baby brothers."
Nightwing wraps a protective arm around the replacement Tim's shoulders, grabs Jason's empty hand with his other, and leads them out of the warehouse.
As one, they leave Batman behind.
And for the first time in more years than Jason wants to admit, the future doesn't resemble a dark night.